


Just You

by star_pilots



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Force Bond (Star Wars), Leather and Silk Imagery, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Slow Build, That's Not How The Force Works, Wet Dream, hey now first fic, if that's possible in a one-shot, is there fabric kink? cus rey has it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-23 01:14:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23303362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/star_pilots/pseuds/star_pilots
Summary: Rey slides her hand out from under her neck, damp with sweat. She has to touch him. The one time they had haunts her still. She has to touch him again.Rey reaches out across the space between their two cots. The brief void of a few feet, or perhaps a galaxy.Every inch of her body trembles but her hand. “Be with me,” she pleads.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey & Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 19
Kudos: 79





	Just You

**Author's Note:**

> hi! this is my first fic that i'm posting. i'm studying fiction writing and need to learn to get over my fear of failure and just post something, so here you go. i love thems (these nerds), and am trying to motivate myself to just write the other pieces i have in mind. thanks! <3

Her hands drag through waves of silk, over trembling shoulders, down to clutch a taught waist. Pillows of fog puff into her neck, weaving a layer of moisture that is smothered by full lips. A body, damp and tense, presses into her from above. Chest against chest, her small breasts ripe and aching. A blanket of languid friction, and she hums, awash in the motion.

Her eyes are closed, soft. He presses forward again as her head is thrown further back into the pillow. Even the liquid sheets seep over each inch of her skin. A gasp caught in her throat molds into a whimper as those lips, _those lips,_ mouth the shell of her ear.

She is filled, surrounded, covered. Her eyes clench as he surges forward again. He reaches inside her beyond any point her fingers could. Each thrust ricochets through her limbs. Her fingertips stretch, reaching to the air above his torso, looking for space to accommodate his pleasure and her own.

She wants to know the color of the silken hair, the hue of skin, the shadows in the ridges of his body. This man who tickles every unsung nerve in hers. Her lids flutter open to a glistening, black ceiling, then they move lower.

“Rey.”

She wakes with a hand to her chest to still her rapid heartbeat. It thuds against her chest bindings, nearly splitting its seams alongside her quick breaths. A hand on her forehead wipes perspiration away. She needn’t do the same to gauge the wetness between her legs.

Flashes of brown eyes, black waves of hair, and a scar linger in her mind as she licks her dry lips. Her throat in similar condition, she turns in her cot, plants her feet on the ground, and moves towards the ‘fresher attached to her room. Rey splashes cool water over her face and neck. She cups it in two hands and sips it into her mouth. With her breaths settling, she plants both hands on the sink, and meets her eyes in the mirror above it.

“What happened?”

A phantom of pressure resides between her legs, unrelenting, despite having been pulled from the dream. A dream? The sensations, the heat, the slickness of their bodies all felt too real to be a dream. Yet, here she stands, hands flat against the metal sink, gazing at herself, hair falling over her bare shoulders, in the ‘fresher of her room. She peers around the door into the room and up at the ceiling. A tangle of pipes, not shined and polished marble.

Her palms lift from the sink so that only her fingertips rest against its surface. As she looks in the mirror at her freckles, counting the new ones she’s gained since beginning her training with Leia, she wonders.

_It was him. And me. And it felt so real. I was startled, but not scared, and as soon as I woke up, I wish I didn’t. What does that make me?_

_A traitor,_ she admonishes herself. _But I didn’t do anything wrong! Well, not really. Not in any way that could be traced, save through the pressure between my legs, that is there still._

_It’s building._

She grips the edge of the sink again, her knees growing weaker by the moment. In her reflection her cheeks grow pink, her freckles a sandstorm against dusk.

“Rey.”

A baritone; deep and wanting. His voice pleading her name in a whisper. Distant, but growing nearer, gaining strength.

She turns the corner to the door of her room, to the right of the ‘fresher. Her hand fumbles over the handle. The door is still locked, and her staff leans against it, right where she left it before turning in.

Her borrowed holopad resting on the table beside her cot indicates that she’d only been asleep a little over an hour. She perches on the cot on her knees, facing the small, solitary window that shows her the stars. They are beacons. Their brightness nearly blinds her from her station on the jungle moon of Ajan Kloss. She wonders how far his voice is traveling as the friction mounts. She clutches her thighs.

“ _Rey_.”

Her eyes are pulled to the cot across from hers on the opposite wall. The one that has remained empty since the Resistance established their new base. Rey tries not to think of the whispers that still follow her around the corridors and why no one elects to share a room with her.

Until now.

She sucks in a breath between her teeth. There is a glimpse of taut arms flexing, gripping fair skin that turns into blushing, damp skin pulled from leather pants. Her eyes meet his. They are wider than she has ever seen them. Shocked. They avert quickly as black silk comes into sight and is thrown over his lap. He bolts upright, his legs dangling over the side if the cot, the rise and fall of his chest matching her own.

The pressure between her legs abates slightly, but the arousal remains.

“ _Kriff_ ,” Be – Kylo swears, his face in his hands. Rey won’t call him that. Not right now. She can’t, but she can sense his peculiar combination of shame, anger, and lust swirling through his mind. The silence after he swears hangs impossibly heavy in her stuffy room.

Despite ghost touches when she’s asleep, Rey has not seen him, _really_ seen him, in months. She should be angry, and she was for a moment. But like a girl, like a silly little girl the sight of his naked body obliterated any thought in her mind.

She eyes him, both curious and cautious, her shallow breaths matching his. “What were you doing?” She could saber herself for the absurdity of that question.

He responds with his head still in his hands. “I’m sure you don’t need me to explain it to you.”

She could saber herself again, but it does not stop her from taking in his frame for a moment, while he isn’t looking. She had seen his chest bare before, but with him hunched over himself, she notices the ridges and muscles of his arms and abdomen, the strength in them obvious, though never seeing the details of them in action. His ungloved hands aren’t splintered like hers often were on Jakku. The nails are short, knuckles soft, despite a small, healing scab on his right hand. They’re slightly darker than what she saw resided below his waist.

Her curiosity often outweighs her reason, so her eyes are drawn to his lap and the waves of black silk gathered there to cover it. Even under the mass she notices the hard lines of flesh that rest there, not diminished even after exposure.

“Are you done yet?” His voice startles her out of her reverie. His face has emerged out of the cup of his hands, though his chin now rests on his fist. His cheeks are as red as she feels hers must also be.

“You said my name,” Rey says, evading his question. His eyes rove over her skin, also exposed beyond what he has seen. The bindings at her chest and arms and a short pair of undershorts are all that she wears, yet she feels less exposed than him.

Kylo sighs, averting his eyes again. It wasn’t a question, but he still answers, “Yes.”

“Why?”

His irritation is evident though outweighed by embarrassment. “Why do you think?”

She looks down at the cot below her, rubbing her moist palms on her thighs, up and down. She swallows. “You were thinking of me.”

Another statement that he dignifies with a ‘ _Yes_ ’, but she doesn’t need him to respond to know the answer.

Just before she awoke, she saw what he was picturing. Not just saw, felt. Their heat, their slickness, and an allusion to what it must be like to be...filled by him. She lets out a wavering breath. Her hands tremble on her thighs.

“Do you always?” She meets his eyes again, a sincere question this time, unsure, even vulnerable because deep, in the pit of her being, she knows what she wants to hear.

“Do I always, what?” he asks, softly, answering her statements with statements. Her questions with his own questions. His head raises from his hands and they clutch the edge of the mattress.

“Th-think of me?” She stutters the question, searching his eyes behind the black strands that have fallen into them. Some catch in the ridge of his scar. He takes a moment, eyes searching back with brows furrowed.

“Yes,” he answers. In the next breath, “just you.”

Her hands grip her thighs at the admission.

_He doesn’t just think of me, he only thinks of me. A girl that, for some reason, the Force connects him with at inconsistent moments. The girl who calls him a monster, a murder, a snake._

_The same man who insisted that I wasn’t alone, and I said was not alone either. Who’s touch over the fire, through the Force, only solidified what we felt when our minds first met in the interrogation room._

“And you?” he asks, to the silence of the room that she left gaping.

She tilts her head and mirrors the question, “And me?”

It sounds small and strange coming from his mouth. “Do you think of me, too?”

She considers for a moment the question, its intimacy not so frightening at this stage, especially given the reality of her answer.

“I... I don’t think of anybody,” she says. His own hurt flashes behind her navel, so she continues. “I’ve never really given myself the chance. Or the galaxy hasn’t,” she chuckles grimly. “There was never someone for me to think of when I did it. I just wanted to be able to sleep at night.” For some reason, her answer made her...sad. Sad in a way she never let herself dwell on before.

“You think of the island.” Her eyes pull away from the transparisteel window where they had drifted. She nods. “I think of it, too.” She tilts her head in question, not wanting to pierce the softness of his voice with her own.

“Not just the island. You…and I, together on it,” he says. His voice wavers as he addresses some point over her shoulder. “Ever since I looked into your mind. I felt…the safety you felt. The peace.” His eyes meet hers. “The protection. I think of us there often. _Very_ often.” His eyes fall to his hands fisted in his lap.

_Oh._

But…that was what she had seen, though fleeting. With the brush of their hands. Each shift of her fingers over the ridges of his fingerprints conjured a different image of what might have been – what she _thought_ was – his future. Their future. A landscape painted green and blue. Sand at their feet packed with moisture. The ends of her hair, pulled from its restraints, whipping in winds unburdened by dust clouds. It petted her bare shoulders and tangled in the knuckles of one, broad, bare hand.

Then it was gone.

Rey chuckles around a lump in her throat. “Can’t get out of my head, can you?” she said, a weak attempt at humor. Or to hurt him. Or neither.

“I have not always been,” he says. “Not since you –” he stops himself, but he cannot block the anger, the hurt, or the ever-present arousal that he shares. Not from her.

_Not since I cut him out._

He had deserved it. Directing his pain of her rejection at the Resistance and failing to see that more destruction would not bury mistakes of the past. That obliterating whatever stood in his way would not make him crave the island less. It would not make him feel less alone.

Just like holding on to her friends, to her ideas of _Light_ and _good,_ has not cured her loneliness either.

He takes a steadying breath.

“Well...” Kylo begins, then pauses. At her inquisitive look, he presses forward, his body leaning towards her on the mattress. “You can think of me now.”

She feels a jolt between her legs and locks her eyes with his. Eyes brown, with twisting green near the pupils. Hair, long waves that shine even in the muted starlight of her room. Lips full and parted that panted against her neck in their shared dream. _Theirs._

Arms and chest strong. A barrier between her and the rest of the galaxy. Hands...large, soft, powerful yet restrained, floating over her skin.

Yes. She could think of him.

She thinks he could sense her answer, but he gives her a soft demand. His tone familiar, commanding, but with an edge she has only recently discovered.

“Say it.”

Rey has no intention to rebel. “Yes, I will.”

Kylo’s breath shakes as his chest deflates. His confidence, she realizes, is only legitimate to an extent. A show perhaps, and a convincing one. She feels heat pool in her belly, renewing itself.

“Will you...now?” His eyes glance from under his lashes as he shifts on the cot.

She furrows her brow. Didn’t she just say she would?

He answers her irritation first, with a glance at his lap. Then his eyes drag up her body before they demand hers.

“I meant…” he starts. His voice, somehow, drops lower, adopting a deeper timber. One she’s only heard in moments through their first bonded meetings on Ahch-To. One she did not realize she has longed for in the months since she shut him away. He continues, voice trembling, “…will you, now, with me here?”

Her lips part. All at once, she is more aware of her body. Her feet pressing into her backside. Her breasts straining against her bindings. The sticking of her underwear to her intimate flesh.

_He wants to see_. Her breath quickens. _And I want him to see._

_Traitor._

_To_ who _?_

She also wants to see. She challenges him. This is how they always start.

“I will if you will.”

His eyes widen before the lids lower.

“You first.”

Rey pulls her cheek between her teeth at his petulance, but she wants to play fair for now. Aware of his gaze, she rubs her palms languidly over her thighs again. Up and down, and higher each time. They take on a rosy hue under her tan. Then her hands pass over her hips and to her waist with feather light touches. Her lids flutter shut.

Kylo’s breathing grows shallower and more audible with each caress she bestows on her body. They each suck in a breath as she trails her fingertips over her ribs, the bindings between her breasts and along the delicate length of her collarbones. A twinge of self-consciousness at her thinness settles in her mind. She brushes her fingers over her neck, pushing her hair away from it.

“Lay back,” he interrupts. She turns to see him worrying his lower lip between his teeth. His forearms bulge as he clutches the mattress.

Cheeks flaming, she leans back on her palms and scoots her bottom down so she can rest her head near the foot of the cot. Her palms begin her course over her body again, beginning at her thighs and inching up towards her small breasts.

Her hands run over them, up and down and in small circles. Her nipples pebble beneath the coarse fabric, visible even under the many layers. Kylo huffs next to her.

“I want to see more of you,” he says.

A glance at his lap sends a jolt through her middle. She smirks, sultrier than she feels her nerves scampering under her skin. “You first,” she throws back at him.

He huffs again, this time aggravated, but does not take more than a moment to slide his black, dewy sheets over his thighs. They catch on the length of him before it bobs into view.

He’s hard, almost achingly so. Rey can feel it. Pale and pink and shining at the top, where a single vein connects to the base. Kylo moves and his leather pants rub against his scrotum and base. Skin slaps together as she clenches her legs, creating her own friction to build on his.

“ _No,_ ” he says, shaking his head. His hair is mused across his forehead. “Open them. Touch yourself.” A large hand grips his length, wide and snug in his fist. She gasps as he drags his fist upward, covering the tip with his foreskin, then revealing it again as his hand sinks down. Pearly whiteness blooms there. Rey can feel her sex swelling.

“ _Please_ ,” he whimpers.

She peels her underwear away from her body, down her legs as the evidence of her wetness collects on her inner thighs. They fall to the floor. Kylo glances at them and swears.

Then her legs part and his eyes race to watch. His hand idly strokes his length as she passes the curls of her mound and opens herself. He swears again and leans back on one hand.

Her fingers gather the wetness at her opening and pull it upwards, her three fingers fitting in the slick spaces between her lips.

“You’re so wet,” he pants, “aren’t you?”

Rey nods, bringing her fingers together to rub circles around her sensitive hood, not quite touching yet.

She’s startled by him bringing his palm to his mouth and spitting into it. It wraps around his length again and strokes faster.

_So that’s how he does it._

A smile quirks her lips until she finally brushes her fingers over her nub. It morphs into a moan.

Her other hand moves from her belly to her breast, squeezing, as she rubs slow circles.

“C-can I see them?” Kylo gasps.

She nods quickly, sitting up and parting her legs so they rest over either edge of her mattress, her feet dangling towards the floor. Her damp hands reach back and make easy work of her bindings. She tosses the scrap of fabric down by her underwear and releases a shaky breath. The cool air on her breasts makes her nipples harden instantly. A needy sound blooms from the back of his throat.

She imagines how she might look in this moment. Hair mused from her head rolling on the mattress. Bottom pert from her arched back with legs splayed. Breasts heaving with deep exhales. Rey can almost see herself as Kylo sees her. Any nervousness dissolves with one glance at him.

Hand gripping his length, his awed look, full lips parted, is the exact expression he wore when his grandfather’s lightsaber flew into her hand in the forest.

She feels…powerful. Powerful in a way that she was not sure she was capable of with this man, this huge figure, shivering with lust and eyes full of reverie.

And full of trust.

“Keep going,” she whispers. He does as she leans back slowly. First on her hands, then elbows, then back with head turned towards him to watch. Nimble, calloused fingers crawl up her body and cup her breasts.

Every sensation reverberates across a closed chamber. Her pleasure and his compounding. Gathering pearls at his head makes her gasp. Fingers delving into her wetness and back up to her clit draw a deep moan from his chest. Their tempos increase. Sounds on a crescendo. And the bottom of Kylo’s fist making contact with the truck of his body is the metronome.

Rey wants to match his pace. Two fingers slip inside herself, pumping, drawing lewd sounds from inside. Shyness overcomes her. Before she can pull her fingers back out, he speaks.

“Just like that, Rey.” His head rocks back, eyes closed, then tilts back forward, like he cannot decide whether to dwell in the heat of his own pleasure or bear witness to her own.

But they are inseparable. The web of feeling they spin is a cluster of nerve endings, indistinguishable from one another. Every jolt rattles joint tendrils. Their vibrations grow in frequency, nearing a precipice where two shadowed strands come together in one blinding thread of light.

Kylo falls to his side where his head rests facing Rey. He swings one leg up onto his mattress while the other dangles down, bent at one knee, towards the dark floor. His eyes flutter, still battling with himself.

“Look at me,” Rey says. She used to think her power was only her feral nature. Wiry limbs and quick movements. Now she has a quiet strength, even if it is just over this man and only they can know about it. But both are still _hers._

Their eyes lock. His don’t waver, save to swim up and down the length of her body, lingering where she pumps her fingers longer.

Sweat drips down the back of her thighs and pools in the hollow of her throat. She draws closer and closer and _closer_. Her body is so taut even her toes clench in the coarse sheets. Her left hand reaches up and cups the back of her neck.

“ _Rey,_ ” he rasps. Fingers tremble over her mound. “Rey, what are you thinking about?”

“You,” she replies instantly. “Just you.”

“What about me? What are we doing? What am I doing to your body?” His hand jerks frantically over his length.

Her head shakes on the mattress. “No, not that. You’re just here. You’re just with me. Just us, now.” Fingers swirl in circles, back and forth, up and down, missing something each time that will give her the release she would _die_ for. Kylo’s hair sticks to his brow messily, to his damp temples.

_He’s so beautiful. Why would I have to pretend?_

He whimpers helplessly. His hand blurs over himself. They’re both so _close._

Rey slides her hand out from under her neck, damp with sweat. She has to touch him. The one time they had haunts her still. She has to touch him again.

Rey reaches out across the space between their two cots. The brief void of a few feet, or perhaps a galaxy.

Every inch of her body trembles but her hand. “Be with me,” she pleads.

His eyes dart to her fingertips. Hands switch over his member so that his slick one can move to where his eyes are locked. A high, needful sound is wrenched from her throat.

The palm of his hand is wet when it lands in hers. And hot. Their fingers clutch at each other. His is so large. So, _so_ large.

Their eyes meet again, then hers roll back in her head.

It starts at her toes. They flex upward off the mattress, reaching for the ceiling, her heels digging into the sheets along with her bottom. Breasts thrust upward, mouth widened in an ‘O’ and she _keens._

Blinding, white-hot, reverberating, every blood cell pinging off of each extremity, collecting in her chest and slamming into her core. From a galaxy away, _That’s it, come for me._ Then an echo of another pleasure coursing through her.

Every surface between her legs is a combination of sweat and the pleasure Kylo has drawn from her with his words. Her head lolls to her left shoulder, drooping eyes landing where their fingers still twine together loosely.

There is only the sound of their breaths, gradually tempering. His rising and falling chest bears strands of white liquid, and lower, his hand gently cradling himself.

The space of the floor between them yawns wider and her fingers clench, unwilling to let go of what she shared with him. Of what was once just her alone in an abandoned ship. Now what can be _hers_ and given to _him_. His eyes, dark and large, say the same.

She wants to say his name. His _real_ name.

“Be with me again,” she says instead, her voice like a call into a cavern as his features become shadowed. Never has the Force given them this much time to say –

Maybe they just had not let it.

“I will.” He did not sound so far away at all.

**Author's Note:**

> im @star_pilots on twitter. feel free to hit me UP!


End file.
